


Wounded Pride

by romanticalgirl



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted 12-15-11</p>
    </blockquote>





	Wounded Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12-15-11

Arthur hisses sharply as Lancelot breaks off the arrow several inches above where the tip is sunk into Arthur’s thigh. Lancelot doesn’t say anything, but his grim smile speaks volumes and Arthur turns his head to survey the rest of the encampment. There are four dead bodies they’ll be taking back to the keep and countless others in the forest, dead enemies that Arthur mourns despite the fact he was party to their deaths.

Gawain is tending the small fire, heating water and herbs for Tristan. Arthur knows the foul smelling concoction is bound for his thigh, and he will reek of nettle, chickweed, red clover, elecampane and ligustrum. The woads will smell him coming long before they see or hear him. “I’m fine, Lancelot.”

“Yes, you simply have an arrow lodged in your leg.” His voice is as dry as the hot wind that feels as if it is blowing up from the pits of hell. “Once again I have to question the Romans if this is their definition of ‘fine’.”

“Your humor is noted and…” Arthur stops, his eyes rolling back as he groans, fingers digging into the log he is sitting on as Lancelot moves the broken shaft of the arrow to test its depth. 

“Hmm?” Lancelot doesn’t look up, but Arthur can hear his smile in his voice. It’s just as bitter as the smell coming from the fire. 

“Just…”

Lancelot pulls out a small knife from his belt and tosses it toward the fire. Gawain catches it in mid-air and holds the hilt carefully, heating the blade over the flames. “I doubt this will continue to feel fine.” He nods and Gawain flips the blade back to him. The edges of the steel are sharp and black with hints of orange. “But don’t scream.”

“I w-” Arthur presses his lips together to trap in the sound that threatens at his throat as Lancelot’s knife slides through his skin. He closes his eyes feeling the burn of tears beneath his lids. He doesn’t move or speak, remaining still as Lancelot eases the knife from his skin, followed quickly by the barbed arrow. Arthur exhales loudly, a rough huff of air that catches in his throat. “You enjoyed that.”

“No.” It’s a rare solemn moment from Lancelot, and gone in an instant, but still lingering as Arthur looks at him. “I’ll let Tristan take over from here. Try not to get shot again, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Is that all?” Lancelot stands up, the arrow still in his hand, slick with Arthur’s blood. “We’ll have to revamp the watch then, since that means none of the rest of us will sleep tonight.”

“I am your king, you know.”

“You’re the king, Arthur. Not mine.” He tosses the arrow into the fire, and Arthur watches the blood blacken and burn. “But even if you die of your own misjudgment, we would end up with the blame, so we’ll keep you alive, I suppose.”

“Your loyalty does my heart good, Lancelot.”

He smiles and stands. “Brace yourself for Tristan’s cure, Arthur. I’ll go stand upwind.”


End file.
